


An Alderaanian Knight

by CarrKicksDoor



Series: Wars in Peacetime [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: New Republic Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: X-wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-15
Updated: 2012-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-31 06:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/340806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarrKicksDoor/pseuds/CarrKicksDoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beware what you say in cantinas; you never know whose boyfriend you're drinking with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Alderaanian Knight

**Author's Note:**

> Set one month before The Crystal Star.

Wedge sighed as he stood in front of the jail cell. It wasn’t unusual that he had to bail his pilots out. He’d already pulled Hobbie and Janson out after a bar brawl two weeks earlier when they’d managed to smash up ShoreLeave and two Rodians, and then had given Inyri the dressing-down of her life three days later when he bailed her out after she’d been in a fight in the very same bar—as if he didn’t know that those particular incidents were related.

Usually Janson went at least a month between incidents, and Wedge really wondered if intra-squadron fraternization ought to be allowed for about the sixth time. The only thing that surprised him this time was Wes’ partner-in-crime. He could have even understood Gavin or Corran being in the cell—he hadn’t sprung either of them since they’d gotten married—because that one time really hadn’t been Corran’s fault and the Corellian had been released by the time he arrived.

Wedge sighed again. Janson was sprawled out in a chair, arms crossed over his chest. He was sporting a cut on one cheek and a blooming bruise around it. The other pilot was lying on a bunk, feet up against the wall, a cold pack arranged carefully over his face in a manner that suggested a broken nose.

Shaking his head, Wedge sucked in enough air to force out a really good bellow. “Colonel Celchu! Major Janson! Front and center!”

The two pilots started scrambling to their feet before he’d even finished; he wasn’t sure that Wes was truly awake before springing to his feet. The cold pack fell from Tycho’s face—definitely a broken nose. Wedge glared. Less than a month home from his honeymoon and already three separate incidents. His glare came to rest firmly on Janson. “Don’t tell me the wedding is off again.”

Janson had the decency to look somewhat contrite. “Wasn’t me this time, Boss, I promise. All I did was pull a Devonarian off Tycho.”

Wedge turned his glare to Tycho, struggling to keep menace on his face when disbelief was warring for his attention. “You started this?”

Damn it if Tycho wasn’t grinning. “Sure did.”

If Wedge had needed anymore proof that enough time as Rogue Leader had finally driven Tycho off the deep end, this would have done it. “And do I even want to know why my second-in-command, a colonel in the New Republic military, was arrested for being drunk and disorderly? Not to mention that the other three are considering assault charges? Sithspit, Tycho, you have a broken nose and two black eyes.”

“You should see the other guys,” Tycho said.

“I couldn’t,” Wedge said. “The two of you put them in the med-center. The Devonarian’s in the bacta tank. You broke his horn off on the bar. Now, do you have an explanation for beating the daylights out of three New Republic citizens?”

Tycho finally began to look slightly abashed. “He insulted Winter.”

Wedge blinked, and suddenly the irritation seeped out of him. “At least you didn’t have a stupid reason for it,” he said, only half sarcastically. He nodded to the guard, waiting for the door to the cell to open. He’d intended to let Janson spend the night in custody, but that wasn’t fair when he’d simply been backing up his friend—though Wedge had no illusions about just exactly who had been responsible for slamming the Devonarian’s head into the bar. That practically screamed Wes Janson.

The two pilots picked up their jackets and walked out of the cell. Wedge fixed Tycho with a look that had utterly failed to put fear in lesser men. “If Janson and Inyri weren’t already on kitchen duty, I’d have you join them,” he said. “As it is, I ought to confine you to base, but I don’t think that’d be fair to Winter when she was trying to surprise you.”

Tycho’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Winter’s at your apartment. She’s been there all evening waiting for you—apparently she got in this afternoon and the princess sent her to have some well-deserved time off,” Wedge said. “She was planning on surprising you, but when you didn’t come home, she called me looking for you about five minutes before I got the call from the MPs.” He let the fact that Tycho had been out drinking and fighting while Winter had been waiting sink in. The guilty feeling would be more than punishment. “Go on, go home,” he said. “Clean yourself up, though.”

Tycho was out the door and looking for a cab before Wedge could say anything else. He clapped a hand on Janson’s shoulder. “Come on, I’ll take you home. Winter wasn’t the only one who called me.”

“Sure you don’t want to confine me to quarters?” Janson grumbled.

“Isn’t talk like that what got you in trouble last time?” Wedge chided. “Speaking of which, don’t you already owe Nevin for busting up ShoreLeave a couple of weeks ago?”

“Nevin will put it on my tab,” Janson said. “Especially since I’ll have to pay Chawan up front.”

Wedge started. “Chawan? The Wookie? What were you doing in the Drunk Gundark?”

Janson made a face. “Nevin won’t let me or Inyri back in until we’ve made it a month without a spat. And anyway, the guy was asking for it. And it made Tycho feel better. No point in him fighting around the rest of the squad and setting bad examples for the flight officers.”

Wedge sighed. He’d been gone and then wrapped up in his new marriage, and Tycho’s mood had escaped his notice. He slid into the driver’s seat of the speeder. “I think you better start at the beginning, Wes.”

***

“Tych?” Janson said, stopping outside The Drunk Gundark. “Are you sure? I mean, this isn’t quite as bad as The Red Rancor, but there could be trouble here.”

The blond Alderaanian looked over his shoulder. “Please. Chawan took over ownership of the bar, so people are a little more reluctant to start breaking things in here.”

“Yeah,” Janson said, following Tycho inside. “I can see how having your arms ripped off would tend to keep you from causing trouble.”

“Look,” Tycho said, leading Janson up to the bar. “Things are perfectly calm right now.”

That much was true—there were a few people gathered around a game table in the back, and while the ambient noise was loud, it was simply that—loud—not from confusion, but from the blaring music and the holoscreens displaying the latest shockball game and the news. The other patrons gave them only a glance as they sat down at the bar. Their dark pilot jackets deliberately didn’t bear the squadron crest, only their ranks and the New Republic insignia. Their squadron jackets stayed at base for more visible days.

Janson was still unsure why Tycho had asked him to come along, unless his friend felt sorry for Janson’s banishment from ShoreLeave. He was pretty sure that had nothing to do with it, though, considering Tycho’s reaction to the latest round of spats he’d had with Inyri. In fact, Tycho had been rather harsh about the whole incident, and Janson had a feeling that it had something to do with Winter’s long absence. She’d been gone for several months now, secluded on Anoth with the youngest Solo child. The four-year-old would probably soon return to Coruscant to be back with his family, as the twins had, though. That would definitely take some of the stress of Tycho’s life.

Janson ordered a lomin ale while Tycho opted for a harder liquor, going straight for Whyren’s. He had downed two glasses before Janson suddenly wondered if he’d been invited to make sure that Tycho got home safely. Wedge had gotten married, so in some ways, Tycho had lost his best friend. If Inyri wasn’t around and Hobbie no longer had time for him—Wed had only realized that he’d really felt lonely before that kind of company and friendship had entered his life.

With that in mind, Janson only sipped at his ale.

Two people came up to the bar, a human and a Devonarian, to order their next round. Chawan chuffed an affirmative before moving down the bar to prepare the drinks. Tycho’s eyes were on the sports channel as the shockball game broke and the smashball scores, which was what Janson knew Tycho was waiting for, finally aired.

The Devonarian huffed at the scores. “Elom doesn’t have a chance of beating Belsavis,” he muttered. “Not after the Dreadnaughts game.”

Tycho shook his head. “Wouldn’t be an issue if they had a decent player. They need to trade Ansha Wais. He’s dragging the whole team down.”

Janson ignored the conversation as the human joined the conversation, vehemently agreeing with Tycho over Wais’ abysmal performance, turning to the screen showing _Coruscant Hourly_ and idly wondering what Inyri was doing—he knew good and well that the show was on at their apartment.

He supposed that he was responsible for what happened next.

“Hey,” he said, nudging Tycho with an elbow. “Look.” He nodded towards the _Coruscant Hourly_ screen. It showed Han and Leia with the twins and Anakin several months before—Winter was holding Anakin in the picture, and the announcers were saying something about Anakin returning before much longer. “There’s Winter.”

Tycho’s eyes rested on the screen. As in many cases, Winter looked even more queenly than Leia in the picture, and Janson saw a flicker in Tycho’s eyes. “Stars,” his friend breathed. “She’s beautiful.”

“Solo’s a lucky fool,” the human said, noticing Tycho’s preoccupation with the woman on the screen. “Two beautiful women to share his bed.”

Tycho’s back stiffened. “Pardon?”

“Tych,” Janson warned, hearing the deadly note in his friend’s voice, but Tycho waved him off as the human kept speaking.

“Oh, come on. Like Solo isn’t kriffing the one with white hair too? Probably more often than the Princess,” the human laughed. He was too drunk to realize that he was stepping on Tycho’s last nerve—the last human at the table was not as he recognized potential trouble and came up to the bar. The one already at the bar didn’t have enough sense to stop talking. “How else do you think she managed to work for the Solos? Something’s going on there, I’m telling you. Sleeping her way to the top. Woman doesn’t look that satisfied without something going on.”

As a point of interest, Janson knew good and well that Tycho and Winter had just returned from some well deserved time together when that picture had been taken. “You might want to reconsider that statement,” Tycho said softly. “Because the only person that woman is seeing is me.”

The human looked over his shoulder at the Devonarian before turning back with a smirk on his face. “Sucks to be you.”

After that, Janson wouldn’t have even bothered trying to hold Tycho back.

Tycho’s punch landed directly in the human’s face, and the other human came flying towards him. Janson stepped out to the side, diverting the man’s kinetic energy into a table as the Devonarian made a move towards Tycho, who was still dealing with the other human. It didn’t take much more economy of movement on Janson’s part to get in the way of a hit in the head from the alien. Tycho was flat out brawling now, having smashed his shot glass over the head of his opponent. The Devonarian reared back for another punch, but Janson wasn’t about to let him throw another punch towards his face. He grabbed the alien’s collar and smashed the Devonarian’s horns into the counter. One broke off, and the alien howled in pain, a hand over the broken horn.

The other human had picked himself up and grabbed a chair. Tycho stumbled back as his opponent got in one good shot, despite his blurry vision, and blood began to pour out of Tycho’s nose.

Chawan’s roar didn’t even halt the brawl. The Wookiee climbed over the bar, forcibly separating Tycho and the human, just as Janson grabbed a bar stool and used it as a weapon on their last opponent. The Wookiee was swearing in a way that would have made Chewbacca blush, but Janson didn’t hear it, groaning as Coruscant security burst in. Wedge was going to kill him.

***

Wedge sighed, weaving in and out of traffic. “That’s a hell of a story, Wes.”

Janson shrugged. “We’re just lucky it was only three of them. If anyone else in the cantina had decided to brawl, we’d have been in real trouble. Those three were regulars, according to Chawan’s diatribe.” He leaned back, closing his eyes.

“I can’t blame him for defending Winter,” Wedge said. “If someone tried to say the same about Iella, I’d probably have done the same.”

Janson snorted. “I already did for Inyri.”

Wedge looked to the side. “You did?”

The snicker from the passenger seat didn’t bode well. “Remember when Pash ended up in the med center after the reunion party?”

“You didn’t,” Wedge groaned. “He didn’t.”

Janson’s grin was entirely too satisfied. “He didn’t ever again. Also, he was very definitely not invited to the wedding.”

Wedge neatly parked the speeder in front of the apartment building. “Well, at least Inyri will understand.”

“No, she won’t,” Janson said. “She didn’t speak to me for two days afterwards. Honestly, if I hadn’t done anything, she’d have been more pissed.” He shook his head, climbing out of the speeder. “Women. Can’t please them, but can’t live without them. Thanks for the ride home, Wedge. Go easy on Tycho, okay?”

Wedge sighed. “Go on. Inyri’s worried.”

Janson threw off a lazy salute before turning around. Wedge just shook his head. Rogue was supposed to be an operational moniker, not a descriptor of the pilots.

***

Tycho slipped inside his apartment. The pain from the blows he’d taken was starting to make his head throb. His nose was definitely broken, and that meant a trip to the medbay. Nothing would taste right for a week afterwards, but he’d deal with it.

The light was on in his kitchen, spreading a soft glow into the living room. Winter was asleep on the couch, her long diplomatic robe spread over her like a blanket, and the light making her white hair almost glow.

He sighed, shucking his jacket and laying it over one of the kitchen chairs, before moving into the small living area. He sat down on the table, and reached out a hand to brush back a strand of hair that had fallen over her face, tucking it behind her ear.

Her eyes flickered open at his touch, then widened in alarm. “Tycho—what happened?” She sat up, her robe falling off to reveal the green dress she favored for their all too seldom dates, and he winced, more about the fact that he’d inadvertently ruined her plans for the evening than any real pain. “Good heavens, you look like you’ve been on the wrong side of a Star Destroyer.” She rose, heading for the kitchen, her elegant dress slightly rumpled from her nap on the couch. She took a cold pack out of the refrigeration unit and turned on one of the lamps. “Oh, Tycho.”

He took the cold pack from her, holding to his face. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Winter brushed her hair back behind her shoulder, sitting down across from him. “I got in earlier this evening, and the princess told me to take a few days,” she said. “I wanted to surprise you, but when you didn’t come home, I called the base. They said that you were off duty, so I waited a while longer and finally called Wedge. I hated to get him up, but I was getting worried.”

“He was getting up anyway,” Tycho said. “He had to come spring me and Janson. The Coruscant MPs aren’t quite so good at letting you go on your own recognizance.” He moved to the couch, leaning his head against the back.

He didn’t have to see the look she gave him. “What did you do?”

“Put a couple of guys in the med center. Janson put one in bacta,” he said, lifting the cold pack from his face. “I knew better than to go in the Drunk Gundark.”

“You knew better than to go in there with Janson,” Winter scolded gently. “Didn’t you just tell me that he was brawling in ShoreLeave?”

“He was,” Tycho said, not meeting her eyes. He knew good and well that he needed to confess right then, because Wedge would tell Iella, and Iella would tell Winter. “But I threw the first punch.”

Her tone was almost amused as she crossed her arms. “You did? Mind explaining why?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Do I have to?”

“You might as well,” Winter said, examining his hands. His knuckles were swollen from coming into contact with someone’s jaw—he knew good and well he was lucky for swelling to be the worst of it; jaws were more likely to break fingers than the other way around. “Honestly, Tycho.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Anyway, there was just a minor disagreement in the cantina, and I felt rather strongly about my position.”

“You did?” Winter asked. “And does this have anything to do with the Elom smashball team?”

“No,” Tycho answered. “He showed surprising intelligence when it came to smashball. It was the way he spoke about certain ladies that demonstrated that his intelligence was limited to smashball.”

“Ah, and just whose honor were you defending?” Winter asked. “You said you threw the first punch, so I assume that this was not a repeat of Pash Cracken’s performance at the reunion party. So these ladies—or lady? Anyone I know?”

He was busted, and he knew it. “I don’t take kindly to people casting aspersions on your virtue. Certainly not in my presence.” Tycho sunk down into the couch, wishing it would swallow him up and hoping Winter was slightly more circumspect about the situation than Inyri.

She sighed, and he risked a look at her. The look on her face was one of simultaneous amusement and affection. “Well, better you defended my virtue than allowing such an insult to stand,” she said, and Tycho felt a sense of relief. Her Alderaanian court upbringing let her understand his need to answer the insult. She rose, holding out a hand to him. “You’ll have to go to the med center tomorrow and get your nose reset. You should probably put some ice on your hands too.”

Tycho examined his knuckles before taking her outstretched hand. “I’ve had worse.” He levered himself up off the couch. “I’m sorry I ruined your surprise.”

Her eyes sparkled. “Well, when I get back from the conference next month, I should be back on Coruscant to stay. How does that sound?”

He kissed her soundly—carefully, but soundly. “That sounds wonderful.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Come on, flyboy. Come welcome me home.”


End file.
